Cash money is sick
I probably won't die from the coronavirus, though saying that means I probably will. As the old-time Irish said, "What you call comes to you."
In the meantime, I'm washing my hands more often. My wife, Deborah, says I have to wash my hands more often.
"You hardly ever wash your hands," she said last week.
"I do talk radio for a living," I said. "My hands don't get dirty."
I did a lot of manual labor getting through college and graduate school. I know when I'm dirty.
The two rules of dirtiness are that you're really dirty if you can smell your own sweat and if you can see actual dirt on yourself. I don't get dirty anymore.
I told this to my wife.
"That's how homeless people are dirty," she said. "This is germs. Other people sit in the chair you sit in. Other people use the microphone you use. Other people wear the headphones you wear."
I began to scratch my head.
"Maybe I have lice," I said. "From the headphones."